


Wrong T.I.M.E.

by Amatea



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/M, Gen, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 07:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14666622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amatea/pseuds/Amatea
Summary: Symmetra and Lucio share a dance in Rio de Janeiro. They try to start something, but it's not the right time.





	Wrong T.I.M.E.

“It might not be the right time

I might not be the right one

But there’s something about us I’ve got to do

Some kind of secret I will share with you”

-Daft Punk, _Something About Us_

 

Rain. Darkness. Concrete. Dance. All Satya’s cradle, all waiting below the streets of Rio de Janeiro.

 

Down a couple blocks from Vishkar Corporation’s headquarters, left at the gas station, past side streets covered in flowers growing out of cracks in the pavement and the walls, at the end of a long line on the street, behind a pair of steel doors, down a flight of stairs into an inky black portal of unlight, Rio’s underground music scene takes the hot summer nights from above and distills it into rhythm below. Strobes flash, feet shuffle, bodies clink together like glass bottles. Welcome to the club. Feel the beat and dive in.

 

Satya Vaswani is acutely aware that we’re not talking about a pool here, sitting at the bar listening to her colleague and friend Sanjay talk about something she has no interest in. Her sangria, like her patience, is almost empty. She wore her clubbing dress, the short black one with the gold trim, because it would allow her the freedom of movement to dance like the locals do. If she would be dragged out to a dance, she thought, she would excel in it as she does all things.

 

However, Sanjay is an awful dancer. He tried his best, but fell over like a cement brick. So they retired early to the bar. The spikey haired bendy straw of a man finishes his scotch in a dramatic, hollow, chug. “I’m pooped” he says. It’s quite hard to hear him over the music, but Satya can read his lips.

 

“I will stay for a while,” she replies, tilting her head to watch the dancefloor behind them. It’s packed, about a hundred sweaty, writhing bodies. She quite liked the order of things in Rio, after all.

 

Sanjay nods. “Alright, have your alone time. I gotta head back.” Satya turns back to face him, but he’s already headed out of the door. Long ago, during her first days in Vishkar Corporation’s care, she learned not to ask questions about her superiors. The thought of why Sanjay left so soon didn’t cross her mind.

 

And then the playlist lingers on a cool, rejuvenating song while the crowd thins out a little. Satya takes the chance to join them, looking around for a good spot to warm up.

 

The mix enters a step, beat, step of snare, bass and passionate Spanish. Satya knows this song, the third most played song on Brazil’s radio, echoed throughout the country by countless internet streams, transistor radios, and car stereos she encounters every day. And though her Spanish is still imperfect, music carries the message through feeling.

 

The fire starts in her legs and quickly overtakes her body. Her hands flicker and lick at the air while she sways to and fro. She lets go and becomes a solitary bonfire. The crowd gives her a little room. Some of them slow down to watch the Indian girl do her own thing. Her vibes light some others to go harder. Young couples grab hands and swerve along. Two guys start really grinding on each other. Satya immerses herself in the party but, like oil to water, knows that her style is from another place and time.

 

Enter Lucio Correia dos Santos, the beating heart of Rio himself, just in time for the end of another hot underground banger. The DJ’s table is noticeably absent. He’s wading through the crowd to find someone while the music fades.

 

Satya opens her eyes again to find Lucio staring at her in shock.

 

“Lucio!” she says in surprise.

 

Pulling back his dreads into a flowing tail behind his head, Lucio frowns. “Symmetra.”

 

They stare each other down. Even the crowd forming a circle around them know their bloody history. Will they bring the fight here too?

 

A synth hovers in the air, the light sinks into a sultry, solemn blue. It’s the slow song, the one during which you would find the time to say goodbye to a lover, or approach a new romance with the expectation that your heart will be broken. Bittersweet.

 

The crowd watches Lucio and Satya in near silence. They step about restlessly, desperately wanting to resume and splash in the beat again.

 

Lucio steps forward first. Satya meets him and holds out her robotic left hand. Their hands grasp and everyone sighs a breath of relief. Claps emerge from the back of the room, and the dance begins.

 

They dance somberly, a quiet back-and-forth swing to a crunchy, slow bass beat. Hands explore outlines, the sway of each other’s hips. With each beat, they step and back step and twirl toward a lazy vortex between their hearts. Satya leads Lucio on a winding river of motion. Her feet flow with the current while her torso ripples behind and underneath unknown waters. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but she can feel it. Lucio finds her eyes and feels it too. He chances a hand on her undulating belly, to ride her waves and figure things out.

 

Satya pulls him in close so they could feel each other’s breath on their chests. With a turn of the body, Lucio finds himself embracing her. Satya becomes the pen, Lucio the grasping fingers. Now they write a story on the dance floor, though they soon realize they have the same phrases in mind. Lucio’s shoulders hop like the frog he takes himself after. The beat breaks, cuts, stops to mourn times gone. Satya bucks her knees. Lucio follows. They break the floor, get so low and down to the earth, digging to find the roots of things, the down and dirty. Lucio and Satya find a spin back on their feet and end their dance apart. They both wear faces full of stifled pain.

 

The song ends quietly. A cheer erupts from the crowd. Satya notices people putting away their phones when her own device rings. She picks up the call.

 

“This is Sanjay. We found Lucio. Time to make the kill.”

 

Lucio approaches her and smiles. “You got moves, Symmetra,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “We should get to know each other. What’s your real name?”

 

“Not a good time, Lucio. I have to go.”

 

“Wait-!”

 

She storms away, leaning forward to conceal her face under the shadows. Lucio stands there, unsure if what just happened was real or not. He saw the secret pain inside his greatest foe, a familiar inner struggle he couldn’t put to words. Frustrated, he throws his hands up in the air and hops back onto the turntables at the front of the room. The show must go on.

 


End file.
